Drowning Your Sorrows
by parma-violets
Summary: Before, she wanted nothing more than to be able to remember. Now, Sakura drinks to forget.


A/N: I've taken a (short) break from fluff to bring you some angst. It's a little different for me (I find angsty Sakura incredibly hard to write and keep in character at the same time), so let me know how I did. You can place this in any world you want, really. It's not set at a certain point in canon. The Piffle incident I briefly refer to is in chapter 75, if anyone is wondering.

I really wanted to get a fluffy one-shot out for Christmas, but I didn't finish it. The rate I'm going, it should be done in time for next Christmas. So this will have to be my Christmas gift to you all, despite how depressing it is. I hope you all had a great day yesterday – I know I did, since my birthday's also on Christmas Day! I hope to have something a bit sweeter out soon, though I'm a bit short on inspiration at the mo – any suggestions?

Disclaimer: Still don't own it, oddly enough. The flying monkeys clearly aren't doing their jobs properly.

Summary: Before, she wanted nothing more than to be able to remember. Now, Sakura drinks to forget.

**Drowning Your Sorrows**

Maybe, if she laid her head down on the table, the room would stop spinning around her.

She wasn't drunk, she knew that. She'd been drunk before, and it had been a fantastic experience (although the hangover the next morning certainly wasn't). She'd laughed more than she ever had before, even at things that weren't funny. She'd skipped around like a child and meowed like a cat, and she'd felt warm and fuzzy and bubbly and just plain wonderful.

She didn't feel like that now. In fact, she'd never felt worse. Clearly she hadn't drunk enough yet.

Sakura stretched out an unsteady hand, aiming for the bottle of amber liquid on the table in front of her. With shaking fingers, she pried the top off and poured the alcohol into her glass, her trembling hand leaving almost as much liquid on the table as in the glass. She was frustrated at her lack of coordination, and almost felt like she was about to cry.

Definitely not drunk enough yet.

She vaguely remembered someone – Kurogane, or was it Mokona? – telling her that drinking only enhanced the mood you were currently in. If you were in a good mood, and drank to celebrate something, your happiness was heightened. If you were angry and started drinking, you only became angrier. And if you were sad …

Sakura sighed heavily, her head falling to the table with a thunk. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea after all.

She'd taken to sitting up late at night, long after everyone else had gone to bed. There was no point in her going to bed; she couldn't sleep. She just sat and thought and remembered until she felt as if she was driving herself crazy. That night, the alcohol had caught her eye. And she'd grabbed it in the vain hope that she could regain the fuzzy feelings she had when she was drunk.

But just like everything else since Tokyo, it wasn't the same.

Sakura took a big gulp of the foreign liquid, feeling it burn all the way down into her stomach. The last time she'd been drunk was in Piffle. He'd carried her to bed that night, she knew that now. He'd been the one holding her hand in her dreams.

Tears were welling up in her eyes before she knew it, and she blinked viciously in an attempt to drive them away.

It was ironic, wasn't it? Throughout this whole journey, she and her friends had been striving to retrieve her feathers so that she could have her memories back. Now, she'd give anything to be able to forget. That was what the alcohol was supposed to do. It hadn't worked though – everything was still exactly as it had been and it still hurt in ways she could never explain.

"Hime?"

Sakura turned to see who had spoken, her head feeling heavy, as if it was disconnected from her body. She had to squint to make out the brown haired boy standing in the kitchen doorway, and for a second, a fraction of a second, she thought he'd come back and her heart leapt into her throat …

It wasn't him, though. It never was.

"S-S-Syao …" she began unsteadily, finding it difficult to control her own words. Maybe she was drunk after all. Although it was a completely different type of drunk and she didn't like it one bit.

"Syaoran!" she managed to get out, standing up abruptly and clutching onto the table for support. "I – I'so glad you – you're here …"

"Are you drunk?" the boy asked in disbelief, staring at the nearly-empty bottle on the table with wide eyes.

"No!" she admonished him, spinning round to face him and almost falling on the floor as a result. "This is not drunk – drunk is … is …"

"Why would you drink all this?" Syaoran asked in confusion, "Were you _trying _to get drunk, or -?"

"Yes – yes I was!" the girl cried, staggering towards him. "I wanted to get drunk so I – because – I mean, I wanted … I want …"

"What?" he asked, frowning as Sakura came right up to him, her face a hair's breadth from his own.

Suddenly she threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into his chest. "Syaoran."

He was blushing, he could feel it, but he still managed to stutter out, "Y-Yes?"

"Kiss me."

Syaoran's mouth dropped open. "I … what?"

"Kiss me."

And without further explanation, the princess grabbed him from behind the neck and tugged his head forward, crashing his lips onto her own.

For the longest time, Syaoran remained immobile. He couldn't do this – she was _drunk_ – he'd be taking advantage of her … but as her lips moved beneath his he felt his resolve wavering, and when he felt her tongue on his lower lip, asking for entrance, he couldn't help but open his mouth in sheer surrender. She felt so warm in his arms … so warm and soft and giving despite the alcohol on her breath and the wetness on her cheeks …

_She was crying_, he realised suddenly.

His heart lurched, and in a second he had grabbed her shoulders in a firm grip and gently pushed her away from him, holding her at arms length. She didn't fight him; she just stood there, her head hanging like a puppet that had had its strings cut, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed silently.

"W-Why …" Syaoran stammered, desperately trying to get his breathing back to normal again. "Why did you do that?"

She didn't answer him; only let out a sob that was louder and more painful than the others.

"Sakura!" he insisted.

"I wanted to see if it would be the same!" she wailed softly, almost under her breath. "But it's not … it's not …"

"The same as …?" he started to ask, before realising what, or rather who, she meant. "You kissed him before?"

"N-No," Sakura choked out, shaking slightly and still refusing to look at him. "But I thought about it, sometimes … I never told him … never – I wish I had, oh, how I wish … but in my mind, it was always perfect – I can't explain it, can't put it into words, but even though I'd never kissed him before I knew exactly how it would be, somehow … and this … this isn't right! It's not the same, it's never the same …"

"I'm not the same," Syaoran bit out almost coldly, unable to help the resentment and rejection he felt seeping into his voice a little.

She shook her head in agreement, now sobbing outright. "But that's not your fault. I just – I miss him so badly, so much, and I thought that maybe … maybe I could love you the way I loved him – his heart's a part of you now. But I just can't – I don't know why –"

"Because I'm not who you need me to be," he sighed heavily.

She sniffed a few times, her sobs slowly quietening down, and the two stood in silence for a while. Sakura placed a hand on her forehead; her head was starting to hurt. Maybe an early hangover was another of the consequences of sad-drinking. She went to sit down at the table, but she stumbled, her lack of coordination finally catching up to her.

To her surprise, Syaoran caught onto her elbow, helping to keep her upright. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "Why are you helping me?"

Syaoran frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because of what I did," she replied, wavering on her feet slightly as her eyes filled with tears. "It was bad – oh it was so awful of me, I'm so sorry …"

"It's forgotten," Syaoran said softly, taking the girl by the arm and starting to lead her out of the kitchen. "We won't ever mention it again; it'll be like it never happened."

"I am sorry, though," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks again as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other. "I'm so sorry … I'm sorry for everything … I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry …"

Syaoran winced – her broken apologies were almost too painful to bear, and yet he had no idea what to say. He was sure, somehow, that his other self would have known. The other Syaoran would have known exactly what to say to her, how to hold her and hush her and sooth her into sleep. But he, the original Syaoran, had not grown up with her – he'd known nothing of her except for what he could see through the eye of his doppelganger. And so he had to settle for just leading her down the hall into her room and sitting her on the bed.

"Syaoran-kun," she called after him as he turned to leave. "Are we still …" She wanted to say friends, but they'd never quite been that before this happened.

He nodded, understanding why she'd trailed off. "Yes, we are," replied, taking her hand in his own and squeezing it gently. "Everything's the same as it was before."

The silence between them hung heavily for a while, until she drew in a shaking breath. "I miss him," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I know," Syaoran sighed, moving towards the door. "He misses you too."

He turned to leave, and Sakura didn't grab hold of the end of the shirt, had no desire to make him stay with her. She fell asleep without warm hands holding hers and a soft voice wishing her sweet dreams. But the idea that he was out there, somewhere, possibly missing her even a little in the moments when his heart, his true heart was in control …

It was unlikely. But it made the corners of her mouth turn up in a very slight smile.


End file.
